


Half-Life

by beanarie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ladyhawke Fusion, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Vaguely Medieval setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: Eames and Arthur are a pair of lovers cursed to never be truly together. Ariadne is a pickpocket who stumbles into their story and becomes part of it.
Relationships: Ariadne & Arthur (Inception), Ariadne & Eames (Inception), Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Kudos: 33





	Half-Life

**Author's Note:**

> The first half was posted on an inception community in 2011 and then I wrote more. red_rahl @ lj was my brainstorming partner and they did an incredible piece of art to accompany the fic, but tragically the internet ate it.

The bird really was quite magnificent. Again and again it flew from its master’s arm to retrieve the fake prey released by members of the crowd. A block of wood. A rat caught in someone’s kitchen. A small doll made of dried hay and scraps of burlap. It never took longer than the count of ten to return to the man in black, the one they called Eames. An unusual thing to gamble on, the prowess of a bird, but people in that region had been known to make bets on the number of fleas to be found on a wild dog. In the country, boredom was one thing that would never be in short supply.

The play of the sun's rays on the mottled brown wings was breathtaking. The one they called Boy, who knew herself to be Ariadne, was so transfixed she stopped what she was doing to watch. And that was how she got caught with her fingers on the innkeeper's purse. 

But she didn't for one second blame the hawk. Well. Maybe for _one_ second. A short one.

"Don't hurt me," she said, the plea springing to her lips the instant she heard the man's squawk of outrage. Ariadne lost her pride a long time ago. "Please. I can be of use to you, sir. I can."

"I have no use for a scrawny, underfed strapling of a thief," the innkeeper responded, his eyes unforgiving as his grip on her collar grew tighter. 

She debated the merits of going limp, pretending he had cut off her oxygen. Then naturally he would slacken his hold, and she could kick him somewhere soft and vulnerable that would hurt long enough to cause a few precious minutes of distraction.

"If you're old enough to steal my gold, boy," he went on, shaking her so that her bones rattled against each other. Every one of the crowd of potential allies retreated, putting a solid wall between themselves and the innkeeper's rage. Apparently he had a reputation. "You're old enough to hang for it. Come on."

"What's this? You’re meant to be watching my winnings, sir. Apparently you've decided beating up children was worth dividing your attention."

She raised her head to squint at Eames, alone with no bird on his arm.

"Eames!" the innkeeper cried. "Oh, here's an idea. Instead of your paltry pile of coins, I will gift you with this young criminal. Judging by his light fingers, doubtless there's a bounty for him in Cobol. Take him to the palace, and you'll have more than those villagers could ever have scrounged up for you."

Eames looked unimpressed. "I'm not in the market for a young boy. Particularly..." As his voice trailed off, his eyes slid up to meet hers. "One who happens to be a girl." 

"What?"

"Could you not see through a disguise of short hair and long trousers?" Eames raised his eyebrows. "I'm embarrassed I let you guard my money."

"A girl." The innkeeper's large hand, like a hamhock, crushed the thick bones connecting at her shoulder as he turned her around. The smile growing on his face caused a shudder to run through her body. "It seems you can earn your keep here after all."

And all she could think was 'No.' No no no no no no no no. 

A flap of wings preceded the sting of talons curling into the meat of her shoulder. Ariadne flinched and brought up her arms to fend off an attack. The hawk stayed where it was, though, content for the moment. With the innkeeper having backed away several shoe-lengths, Ariadne slowly began to believe that her position had improved.

"No," Eames said, looking not at her or the innkeeper. He spoke to the hawk. The bird, for his part, faced him, unflinching, unmoving, and after a long moment, Eames sighed. " _Fine_. I will take her."

His gaze darting from Ariadne to Eames and back again, the innkeeper moistened his lips. "And what if my offer is withdrawn?"

"Would you enjoy losing your sight?" Eames asked in a mild tone. "My hawk seems to have taken a liking to the girl, and he does not react favorably when something he wants is withheld from him."

"You wouldn't-"

"No, probably not. That sort of barbarism is beyond me at the moment." He spread out his hand toward Ariadne and the bird. " _He_ would. He's an animal. He can do whatever he pleases."

The innkeeper's eyes lit on the large knife lying on a table just a few steps away and his fat fingers gave a twitch.

Eames drew his sword so quickly it could have been an extension of his arm. "Now that," he said, "I really would not advise."

"Go then," the innkeeper spat, his eyes crossed in their efforts to keep watch on the point of Eames's blade. All the blood had drained from his face. "Take her if your bird is so attached. But you had best put some ground between you and this place before you lay down to rest. My sons and I do not take insults lightly."

Eames's horse, a giant black stallion, came at his whistle. He pulled himself into the saddle and came a few curious paces closer to the innkeeper. "My winnings, innkeeper."

The innkeeper tossed the small purse with a growl that promised he would not be forgetting this day any time soon.

"Right, 'Boy'," Eames said. As the hawk flew off, the man smiled at Ariadne in a way that felt more sarcastic than cheerful. He held out his hand. "Let's take the man’s advice."

The stallion's name was Cronus. She learned that when Eames pulled them to a stop in the middle of a scattered sort of village in the forest and said to her, "I'm going hunting, and I'll likely be gone all night. You see that Cronus gets bedded down."

She'd had every intention of doing as he'd asked. Or she would have, if indeed he _had_ asked. Handsome or not. Dubious savior or not. She refused to take orders from this man.

She led him into the barn (because there were no stables), and the sounds of Eames going off into the distance petered out to nothing.

"Cronus?" she said to the horse, taking care to keep her voice low and soothing. "I'm just going to have a peek in these bags you've got. Won't hurt you, I promise." Eames had to have something valuable in there, something she could trade for food and passage out of the area. "Shh. Shh. It's fine. You like me, remember? I’m lighter than your master and I haven’t kicked you once all this time."

As she approached his hindquarters, the horse kicked out with one leg, hitting her with a glancing blow to the thigh. Her cry was one of pain and not a small amount of rage.

"What's happened?" a voice called. "Is everything all right?"

As Cronus retreated to the far end of the barn, Ariadne limped over to the door, where she saw a young man holding a lumpy burlap sack. He had dark hair and a thin build, and though his words should have indicated concern, she detected a touch of amusement.

"Injured yourself?" he asked. Something within the sack gave out a muffled squawk. "I could call someone to come tend to you."

"What are you doing with those chickens?" she asked, testing out her leg. The pain had flared white-hot on impact, but it faded quickly. She would have a bruise, nothing more.

"Taking them to camp and roasting them on my fire."

"But they aren't yours," she said, half inquiringly.

"No, I've stolen them." He adjusted his grip on the sack. "And before I've eaten, I've a mind to root through whatever precious metals may be left inside the blacksmith’s."

She fell a little bit in love right then. "Well."

"There's a drumstick in it for you if you play look-out."

"Just a drumstick?" She could have asked 'How do you know you can trust me?' but she was preoccupied by the empty feeling in her belly.

"I am open to further negotiations, after the job is done." 

*

"You should take care," the man said later. "Small girl like you, traveling alone."

"I'm not alone." She tossed a chicken bone into the fire. "At least, I didn't come here alone. My traveling companion, however..." Was a bit of an ass, but she didn't know this man well enough to say so. "I don't believe I'll be in his company for much longer."

"This companion wouldn't happen to belong to the large black stallion you left in that barn?"

"He may," she allowed.

"Man who can handle a horse like that, he has strength. Something like that shouldn't be tossed aside."

"Why does it matter to you?"

He poked at the fire with a long stick, coaxing more life into the darkening embers. "No one should be alone."

That was true. "I could go on being your lookout. I did well, did I not?"

He smiled. "I don't travel by conventional means. Not much room for a partner." 

She swallowed her disappointment along with one last bite of chicken. 

"Don't worry. We'll see each other again, I think."

"Ariadne," she supplied. It sounded strange. She hadn't spoken her real name out loud since she left her village. 

He nodded his head respectfully, acknowledging her confidence. "It's late, Ariadne. You should get some rest."

"I'm not-" An infant, she meant to say, but the howl of a wolf took her words away and made her spine go stiff. "That sounded close."

His eyes didn't leave the fire. "He's harmless."

"A wolf has never been labeled thus," she said, still looking in the direction of that mournful sound.

"Believe me when I say you have nothing to fear from that one in particular."

And she did believe him. Lord knew why.

*

"Up you get, Boy." 

She awoke with a jerk, quickly scanning her surroundings. "Huh," she said.

"Cronus is a gentleman. He would not deign to feed himself. And I, being of like station, would not deign to feed him when I've got you around to do it for me. Up."

"He's gone," she concluded. It wasn't so much a surprise as it was a disappointment.

"On the contrary," Eames said, pointing. "He stands at the ready just through those trees there."

"I wasn't talking about the horse. I met someone last night after you left."

"Did you?"

"A man. He helped me build the fire."

"Who doesn't know how to build a fire?" Eames muttered as he folded clothes and piled them up at his side. "What kind of life have you lead that you've been left with so few usable skills? Can't even thieve properly."

"I liked him." Then she said, because it was true and because she could, "He was nicer than you."

He laughed. "Most people are, little mouse. I take no offense." When he tossed over two apples, it could have been to counteract her statement, but she got the feeling he'd meant to do that all along. "One for you. One for him. And mind you don't forget his oats."

She bit into her apple and let the last vestiges of sleep clear from her mind. Her gaze fixed on the pile of brown clothes that Eames stowed in his saddle bag. 

The stranger had been wearing brown. Funny.

*

The road they traveled that second day tapered to a treacherous point between the river's edge and the mountains. Forced to wrap her arms around Eames's waist to keep from falling, she remembered the dismissive way he’d told that farmer that his boy would repair the planks of wood Cronus had kicked to pieces in the interior of the barn.

"I have a name," she said. 

"I don't doubt it." He didn't sound apologetic in the slightest. "I'm sure you've noticed, though. The way people look at you, and how no one seems to take a second glance if they first hear me call you 'Boy'." 

"Well... yes." She wasn't stupid.

"The overwhelming majority of people won't go against a suggestion implied in such a manner. It's simply human nature. We aren't brought up to question reality, merely to follow its established rules."

"You know quite a lot about fooling people," she said.

"Among other subjects. Yes."

"What do you do with it?" she asked. "Is that how you live, just harvesting spare coins from stupid farmers?"

"You should stop looking at me with such judgment shining from your eyes," he said. "I can feel it burning through my back like hot pokers."

Ariadne had been only asking, but she didn't protest. It was clear he had a point to make. Interrupting would be rude.

"I used to be a respectable citizen," he continued. "Guards didn't always run after me with swords drawn and voices raised in alarm. In times past, they actually took my orders."

"Why would they do that?"

"Customary behavior," he said, shrugging, and the fact that he said nothing more made her think that perhaps he wasn't lying.

Then a gust of wind blew the hood off her head, the cold rain pelted her without mercy, and the small shift of her body to replace the hood was just enough to send her tumbling off the back of the horse. 

The last thing she saw before the snow-fed river snatched her away was Eames's hand reaching out and closing on thin air. He called to her, but she couldn't answer. The shock of the freezing water had driven the air from her lungs. All she could do was ride, and ride, and remember to keep her head above water, until it was hard to remember anything at all.

When she came back herself, she was lying on her side with her cheek against the snow, her left foot still floating in the water. There was a warm weight on her shoulder and Eames was breathing hard. "Got you," he said. The hawk circled overhead, blurred from the rain and her exhaustion.

She was barely aware of being lifted and carried from the river's edge to somewhere much darker. A cave. Everything but her leggings and the muslin binding her chest was stripped away, and she was bundled up in brown clothes and the horse's blanket. Her teeth made an awful clacking sound, but it hurt her jaw to try to stop it. "Y-you're wet, too," she said.

"I've survived worse," he said, pressing a cup to her lips. "Drink."

"Pu-pulled me out of the river. Yes?"

"It was nothing, I assure you. The river practically spit you out. _Drink_."

The liquid smelled and tasted strange, but holding the heat inside her mouth and letting it slide down her throat felt too good to even consider spitting it out. "Not water."

"It's tea, of a sort. You'd prefer something else?"

"Thank-thank you." 

"Unnecessary, honestly. Do be quiet." 

She fell into a doze with the firelight behind her eyes, warming her face. 

Eames kept talking, even though she didn't respond, and snatches of his one-sided conversation made their way past the filmy haze covering her consciousness. He spoke about his horse, where his name came from, a tale of gods and wars and eating babies. He spoke about his own life. "I never expected to stay on," he said. "Did my father proud for the first and only time, and that was wholly unintentional. Wasn't supposed to be so bloody good at it. Palace guard. I had no idea my skills would actually be of value there, not to that extent. It cocked everything up. Couldn't very well rob His Holiness the bishop after they made me their captain."

"Captain Eames?" she murmured doubtfully, then closed her eyes on his funny twist of a smile.

*

When Ariadne rolled over, she ended up with a face full of fur. Her eyes snapped open. She wriggled back several inches. A wolf, dark brown and impossibly large, gazed back at her impassively from where it sat.

Instinct told her to scream bloody murder, but this was a dream. It couldn't be anything but. So screaming would accomplish nothing. Still cold despite the crackling fire and the blankets, she settled back against the wolf and sighed contentedly. Blessed warmth.

A chuckle forced her to look to the left. It was the stranger, this time wearing black instead of brown. He was crouched on the ground, poking more life into the fire. "I was right," he said, smiling like he knew a secret. "He does like you."

"Strange dream," she mumbled to herself. But she liked it, in spite of the strangeness. She felt... safe.

"And Ariadne?" she heard just before the darkness took her away. "My name is Arthur."


End file.
